


Nightshade

by RacecarWrites



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Cute, F/M, Falling In Love, Flowers, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RacecarWrites/pseuds/RacecarWrites
Summary: Despite comfortable lodgings at Nordion, Ayra can't bring herself to relax. It certainly doesn't help that, after an encounter with him on the battlefield, she can't seem to get Arden off her mind...
Relationships: Ayra/Arden
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	Nightshade

“You seriously need to learn how to relax.”

Alec’s words echoed in Ayra’s mind, every replay making her steps hit harsher on the stone littered ground. Of _course_ she wasn’t going to relax. They were in the midst of quelling an uprising in Augustria; how could anyone possibly relax? Sure, Sigurd had declared the army would have a few days’ respite at Nordion before moving onward, but this was clearly meant to be time to train for their future clash at Heirhein. Only a damned fool such as Alec would see this as a vacation. 

Not to mention the sheer audacity of the way he approached her. Ayra had found a secluded corner of the castle courtyard and took a few moments to sharpen her steel blade (she was less than thrilled with the local blacksmith’s work), which, to Alec, clearly meant that she was available for a friendly chat. At least, “friendly chat” was how Alec saw himself - Ayra would have referred to it as a heavy-handed attempt at getting into her pants. 

“Hey there, princess.” Alec’s use of her title made her skin crawl; a form of respect in the mouth of any other person becomes disingenuous endearment on Alec’s lecherous tongue. “You don’t have to dirty your pretty little hands on that blade, you know. Why not let me handle that for you?”

“I can take care of my own weaponry, thank you.” Ayra’s eyes never left her blade, deeming him unworthy of interrupting her work. Besides, looking up at him would mean seeing his smarmy face, and she didn’t want to ruin her day further. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong in needing help, m’lady.” Alec shifted his weight, undeterred from his approach. “Speaking of people who need help, have you seen Arden anywhere? He wasn’t at the dining hall last night and no one’s seen him all day.” 

Ayra shrugged. "I didn't see him at the arena or the blacksmith's, so I can't help you there."

"The _arena?!"_ Alec seemed personally offended by this concept. "What are you doing spending all day at the arena? We're supposed to be resting up for the next battle!" 

"The Sword Saint Od used to say, 'A lax training regimine is a smooth road to death.'" 

"Wow, that's a little melodramatic." 

Ayra bristled at his casual disrespect of her ancestor's wisdom, finally jerking her head up from her sword to give him a piercing glare. Alec's smug, unfazed grin made her instantly regret having to look at him. "If you wish to throw your life away, that's your prerogative. Don't bring me down to your level." 

Alec put up his hands. "Hey, I'm just trying to help. Maybe you'd be having more fun if you just took the stick out of your ass and put something more fun in there--" 

Ayra shot up, dropping her whetstone in her anger. "Do you have nothing better to do than to try and get under my skin?!" 

"Not really," Alec remained unfazed, and Ayra could swore she saw his eyes dart down to her legs and back up. "I mean, I may be trying to get under _other_ things, but--" 

Ayra sheathed her sword, the metallic _shing_ thankfully interrupting her assailant, and turned to storm off. Alec refused to relent. "Oh come on, princess! It was just a joke. You seriously need to learn how to relax." 

Ayra didn't dignify this with a response, but it didn't stop her from thinking about it as she stomped toward the castle gates. She couldn't go to the arena, as she had fought all of their opponents earlier that morning. All of the training grounds were occupied with other men of Alec's ilk. The only place she could think of being was not in Nordion, and so, towards the castle gates she went. 

The sun was low in the sky as she crossed under the portcullis and onto the grassy fields that surrounded the castle walls. Sunset was still an hour out, but the view from the plateau that the castle sat upon was still spectacular - there was a gentle slope from the castle gates that suddenly dropped off at a cliffside, and beyond which the sea stretched to the horizon. The evening sun glinted off the waters, with swaths of clouds above that foreshadowed what was sure to become a beautiful sunset. Or an approaching storm; she had never been adept at telling the difference between types of clouds. 

With enough daylight left, Ayra took to training on the grassy fields, drilling her sword strokes in an effort to perfect her technique. The physical activity was helpful in blowing off steam, but as her anger evaporated with her sweat, another feeling took its place: 

Loneliness. 

Since joining Sigurd's army, Ayra had found it difficult to connect with her comrades in arms. Even her nephew, Shannan, the reason for her defection, was not often available as he had taken up studies with Prince Sigurd's squire, Oifey. Sigurd himself was caught up in his own affairs, namely with his new bride in their personal quarters. Ayra wasn't even sure if she had exchanged any words with the new Princess, the ethereal beauty…what was her name again? Dearie? Diadora? Something like that. The only other women in the army were Ethlyn, who was more interested in trying to find a suitor for Ayra to marry than getting to know Ayra as a person; Edain, who spent most of her time volunteering in the infirmary; and the most recent addition, Lachesis, who was preoccupied in organizing the affairs of her own castle. She did seem to share Ayra's current views on men, as she had once called the lord of Heirhein "a disgusting swine" during their initial tactics meeting. Perhaps Ayra could have a friend in her once the rebellion in Augustria had been quelled. 

That just left the men of the army for Ayra to try and befriend. Alec was certainly out, as he'd be more likely to compare Ayra to a piece of meat than to a friend. Naoise was polite, but seemed too caught up in his own duty to Prince Sigurd to have time to socialize. Lex was certainly less uptight, but he had been making many excuses to go to the infirmary lately, even when he was perfectly healthy (if Edain had any issues with this, she hadn't said so yet). Chulainn was a recent addition and enjoyed training as much as Ayra, but he seemed to eye Ayra with a similar glint to Alec. And Arden--

… Ayra hadn't had a good read on Arden. She had exchanged pleasantries in the dining hall with him, but never had a full conversation. He was polite, to be sure, while still personable, but there was always something behind his eyes that Ayra couldn't quite place. It wasn't the mischievous glint of Alec, nor the noble reverence of Naoise. His rough hewn features obscured his true emotions, giving him the air of an in-progress clay sculpture, the final shape of which had yet to be determined. He was an enigma to her.

The closest thing they had to a full conversation was a few days' prior, during the skirmish on the very grassy plains where Ayra stood. Arden has positioned himself between a mounted knight from Heirhein and one of Lachesis's personal guards, who had been knocked from his horse and was clinging for life while a page went to fetch Lady Edain for treatment. Arden had his shield up, facing a direct attack from the Heirhein knight's lance. The blow glanced off Arden's armor, and Arden reeled back his blade for a counter attack. Even from several paces away, it was clear to Ayra that Arden would miss his target. Seizing the opportunity, she quickly closed the gap between them and thrust with her sword while the foe was preoccupied. There was a familiar feeling of flesh tearing from her blade, the yelp of pain, and the knight fell from his mount, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. 

Ayra wiped the blood off her blade and turned towards Arden, who was fixated on her with a look of awe. Or at least, that's how it seemed at first; as he spoke, a flicker of sadness tugged at the corners of his brow - but perhaps that was just Ayra's imagination. 

"You move like lightning, princess!" He chuckled, a big toothy grin spreading across his husky face. "I'll be here to take any hits until Lady Edain gets here - you keep up the pressure, and I'll be your shield!" 

Ayra nodded, and turned to face another mounted foe coming their direction. As the enemy charged forward with his lance, Ayra swiftly stepped back behind Arden, who barely grunted as the blow glanced off his breastplate. Shifting her weight back, she lunged forward and upward, catching an exposed part of the knight's side with her blade. He sputtered and then, too, slid from his mount, joining his comrade on the grassy ground.

This pattern persisted, even after Edain arrived and had healed Lachesis's guard - a foe would approach, Arden would take the hit, and Ayra would retaliate. The two of them had synchronized their motions together, like a choreographed dance, but with no notion of a leader or a follower. Arden would adapt to subtle changes in Ayra's footwork to ensure she was well protected, while Ayra would shift her positioning depending on how Arden responded after each blow. He would whiff a follow-up attack and she would be right there to pursue and punish their enemies. 

As another knight fell at their feet, a trumpet sounded. Both turned towards Nordion castle to see Prince Sigurd's dashing figure standing near a young woman in a pink tunic and light armor, surrounded by their retainers and a lone trumpeter. 

Sigurd raised his arm and waved at them. "Heirhein has been driven back! The kind Princess Lachesis has offered us respite at her home. Come, join us in Nordion!" 

Arden stretched his shoulders - at least, as much as he could stretch in his large pauldrons. "Glad to hear that's over! I sure hope she's got a good blacksmith to help fix up my armor." 

Ayra glanced at him and realized just how pocked his armor had become. Large divots riddled his heavy armor, some deep enough to surely be covering sizable abrasions; though if Arden was affected by these wounds, he didn't show it. His stoicism helped quell her concerns on his health. 

Ayra nodded in response. "An arena would be helpful as well. I want to be sure my skills are as sharp as my blade.” 

Arden let loose a small chuckle. "Your skills are fast enough for me, m'lady! Guess that's the reward of good training, huh?" 

The flicker of sadness returned to his eyes. What was bothering him so? 

Ayra didn't feel like this was the time or place to pry, as much as the curiosity gnawed at her. She simply nodded again. "One can never be too prepared to face a foe."

Arden smiled again, his big toothy grin taking over his whole face. "That's good advice, princess!" 

Ayra returned the smile, not accustomed to accepting praise for her fighting skills. She turned and started towards Nordion's gates when Arden's voice halted her.

"One more thing, princess…" 

She turned back to see him, the big grin now shrunk to a small smile, and his eyes sparkled beneath his heavy brow. Arden took a moment to hold her gaze, looking her right in the eye. When he did speak, his tone was sincere and gentle. 

"Thank you…for following up my attacks. And pursuing our enemies." He shifted slightly, briefly dropping his gaze. "I know I'm slow, but I appreciate you giving me a chance as a comrade-in-arms." 

She offered him a smile of her own, and turned to go back towards the castle. She caught that same hint of melancholy in his eyes reflected in his tone, making it harder to return his gaze. As she closed the gap between her and the castle, she couldn't get his face out of her mind. His awestruck, morose, desperately trying to stay strong face - why did him praising her seem to hurt him so much? He was clearly physically strong and resilient, adept at his position as a heavily armored knight. He surely had his strengths, so why was he so sad? As she thought back on their time in combat, all the heavy blows he took on her behalf, a small observation occurred to her: 

He never landed a single follow up attack. 

\---

Ayra sighed, unsure why Arden was still on her mind as she threw herself back into her sword drills. A few steps back, shifting her weight, then thrusting forward, and repeat. The motions felt familiar, nearly muscle memory, as she trained her body to move in the correct sequence. As she shifted her weight for the thirtieth (or maybe fortieth?) time, it occurred to her why Arden was so prevalent in her thoughts: these were the same motions she took on this field with Arden the other day. 

She stopped in her tracks, furrowing her brow. It wasn't just that these motions felt familiar, they felt _right._ It felt as natural as taking a breath on a cool spring morning. While she had always excelled in her speed, she always felt the need to retreat as soon as possible, lest she take a lethal blow. With Arden, those fears were completely assuaged, and she was able to move more freely, more aggressively, and more confidently. Like the thing she had been missing in her training was his comfortable, dependable presence. 

Ayra sighed. She had barely spent an hour with him, and she was calling him _comfortable?_

She shook her head, hoping to shake off whatever she was feeling as well. She began her drilling again, making a conscious effort to take different steps, make different thrusts, anything to help keep her mind clear of - 

"Princess?" 

Ayra jumped, and whipped toward the source of the voice. She suspected someone from Nordion was trying to beckon her inside, but it instead came from a low hill across the field. There, the setting sun behind him, gazing at her with surprise, relief, and a hint of reverence, was a familiar, heavily armored figure. 

"Arden?" Ayra returned his gaze, equally as surprised. Though he was silhouetted by the setting sun, she could see his face light up upon seeing her, and he began lumbering in her direction. Though, in this case, "lumbering" wasn't quite the right word; there was a bit of a spring in his step, like his armor had lost some of its weight. As he came closer, Ayra could more easily make out his big, toothy smile and gleaming eyes under his heavy brow. He certainly wasn't handsome by common measures, but there was a certain charm to his face when it was overcome with such joy. 

Joy that seemed to be caused by him seeing Ayra. 

Ayra pushed this thought aside, focusing on her immediate confusion instead. "What are you doing here?" She recalled Alec's concerns. "And where have you been, anyway? I heard you missed dinner last night." 

Arden stopped a few paces away, only needing a moment to catch his breath. "Oh, well…" He shifted in his armor, searching for the right words. "Well, you see, my grandmama was from Augustria, and she used to tell me of the beaches here when I was a lad, and…uh, here." 

He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small object and held it out to her. Ayra furrowed her brow, realizing what it was. 

"Flowers?" 

In his open gloved hand, slightly compressed from his long walk, was a bundle of small flowers. Each one had five purple and white petals, shaped in sharp triangles like small daggers, with a few similarly sharp-looking leaves on their stems. Ayra was caught by their small, simple beauty, before the realization of the meaning behind this gift hit her. Furrowing her brow, she looked up to meet his gaze. "Arden, what are you-" 

"Oh!" Arden was taken off guard by Ayra's consterned expression, realizing himself what it looked like he was doing. "I don't mean--I, uh… I guess I shoulda explained myself, right?" He let loose an awkward chuckle. 

"You see," he lowered his flower-holding hand and used his other hand to rub the back of his neck in thought, "I… I know how… _slow--"_ his expression turned pained, like the wounds he received in yesterday's battle had finally caught up to him "--I can be in battle. I always try to follow up my attacks like Prince Sigurd or even Alec can, but… I just don't got it in me. I tried to train with the arena combatants, but I can't even keep up with them." 

He stared at his feet, taking a deep breath. "And watching you fight yesterday, it was like I had a front row seat for the deadliest dance performance ever, and I felt so grateful to even watch. You move so quickly and gracefully, and I…" He turned his gaze up to lock eyes with Ayra. "I knew that if I wanted to help protect you, I had to get better. Somehow." 

Ayra returned his gaze, the gloom he had hidden away the day prior had now taken up his whole expression. Their synchronized strikes yesterday, what she thought was a coordinated attack on their enemies, was actually a wound to his pride, pushing him further into his insecurities. But before Ayra could absorb any guilt for the unintended consequences of her actions, Arden continued. 

"I had to do something if I wanted to be a better shield for you. I was so afraid I'd misstep and you would get hurt because I wasn't quick enough. So I had to… take some time to train by myself, you know? Practice some training drills, like you. And my grandmama, she was from Augustria, right? She told me about how beautiful the beaches are, and how dangerous they can be. Because of these." 

He held out his hand to show her the flowers again. 

"These are…I forget what fancy name she said they were. But in Chalphy, they're called _Nightshade._ They're used to make poison. I dunno how people do that, but my grandmama told me to stay far away from them. She'd probably give me an earful if she saw me holding them now! But when I got to that beach, and I saw a patch of these blowing in the wind, well…" 

Looking down at the flowers, slightly rustled by the gentle breeze, Arden spoke with a tone of reverence. "They looked so beautiful… and so deadly. It reminded me of you." 

Ayra felt herself falter slightly, something that hadn't happened since she was first learning how to hold a blade. Arden, the stalwart knight, the sturdy shield, was willing to open up to her and give her a thoughtful gift, despite how she unintentionally made him feel inadequate. Underneath his layers of heavy armor plates and stark features was a selfless and honest heart, striving to better himself for his comrades. 

Arden glanced up to meet her gaze, and held out the flowers to Ayra. "That's why I wanted you to have these. I wanted to thank you for giving me a chance in battle yesterday. You encouraged me." 

Ayra gently took the slightly compressed flowers, cradling them in her hands. The sharp edges of the petals and leaves looked less harsh up close, further concealing their potential danger. They truly did have a simple and elegant beauty to them, and Ayra felt her cheeks flush at their comparison to her. 

She looked up to catch Arden's expression, hoping her blush was not too noticeable. Arden was watching her with a look of admiration, but quickly dropped his gaze and turned red himself at her glance. 

"Well, I, uhh…" He cleared his throat, regaining his composure and raising his head. "Princess Ayra, though Prince Sigurd is my lord and commanding officer," He closed his eyes and put his hand over his heart, the metal-on-metal sound of his armor punctuating his gestures. "I hereby pledge to protect you to the best of my abilities, or face death trying." He opened his eyes and blushed again. "That is, uh, if you'll accept me." 

Ayra giggled, feeling her face flush even more. "Of course I will accept you, Sir Arden." She held the flowers close to her chest. "I am grateful for your protection." 

Arden's chiseled face contorted into a goofy grin, taking over his face with complete and utter joy. The despondency she had seen in his expressions the day prior was completely absent, and his eyes looked brighter under his heavy brow. "You honor me, Princess." 

Ayra wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline from her training or the rush of emotions to her chest that emboldened her as she took a step forward. "I would be honored myself, Sir Arden, if you accompanied me back to the dining hall. You must be hungry after all that walking." 

Arden's smile shifted into a look of shock, taken aback by her offer. He caught himself and smiled once more, turning to offer an arm for her. "Of course, your highness." 

She took it and offered a warm smile in return. "Besides, Alec was on the prowl when I had left, and I could _definitely_ use your protection from him." 

Arden laughed, a hearty laugh that made his eyes disappear into his smile. "Leave him to me, Princess!" 

Ayra felt her cheeks flush again, no longer feeling a need to hide it from Arden. She leaned into his arm as they walked back toward the Nordion castle gates, absorbing the warmth from the gaps in his armor, lulling her into a gentle embrace of comfort and security. 

She never felt more relaxed than she did in his presence.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading to the end! I hope you enjoyed it! This is my first time writing fanfiction, so feedback is appreciated. I had this idea on my mind and hoped that drawing [this illustration](https://twitter.com/RacecarArt/status/1302384723243786240?s=19) would be enough to get it out of my brain, but alas, tis not to be. So I wrote it all instead. :D
> 
> I can't guarantee I'll write frequently, but I'll share whatever brain worms I make that are too eleborate to draw out. Thanks for stopping by, and have a great day! <3


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